“Don’t make it weird,” he said.
I touched one yellow petal with my finger. “You bought me flowers.”
“I know. I was there.”
“They’re not roses.”
“You don’t seem like a roses girl.”
“What do I seem like?”
He started the truck, but his eyes stayed on me. “Like roses would bore you, and you’d pretend to like them becauseyou’re polite in public when you’re not busy causing emotional property damage.”
“That is disturbingly well observed.”
“I pay attention.”
The words landed quietly between us.
I looked down at the flowers, then back at him. “Thank you.”
His mouth softened, and for one second, there was no truck, no date, no terrifying new version of us trying to stand on fresh legs. Just Easton looking at me like gratitude from my mouth mattered.
Then the engine made a sound like a garbage disposal full of pennies.
Easton froze.
I blinked. “Was that part of the video?”
“Don’t.”
The truck shuddered.
He looked at the dashboard.
A little orange light blinked at us like a demon with excellent timing.
I slowly turned toward him. “Responsible boyfriend.”
“Do not start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face is doing a lot.”
“My face has concerns.”
He put the truck in reverse.
It moved three feet, coughed like a dying appliance, and then stopped.
The silence that followed was so complete I could hear my own lips pressing together.
Easton closed his eyes.
I whispered, “Should I get out and push, or would that harm your masculinity?”
His eyes opened. “You’re enjoying this.”
